Sherlock Holmes And Harry Watson Finally Meet
by AllesandraQuartermaine
Summary: A few months after the events of The Great Game, Sherlock meets John's sister Harry Watson. Neither is impressed with the other, although the meeting could have been a lot worse.  Mild cussing and references to drinking/alcoholism


**Author's Note: Just the thought of Harry and Sherlock meeting is making my mind spin with possibilities. I'm sure everyone else is rubbing their hands with glee at the thought too. Considering how Harry is mentioned in A Study In Pink, and how Sherlock is, any sort of meeting between them could be... interesting. **

**Ever since I found this timeline created by a wonderful fan, which can be found at a website I'll link to my profile. I am now going to base my fanfics around that so everything will make sense. Which of course puts my A Study In Bullet's fic out of sync unfortunately. But I'll continue writing that. **

**Oh yes, I am not sure if Harry is older or younger. Right now I'm going for older sibling. If anyone knows which it is, let me know please. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or John. I do not own Mrs Hudson, or Harry Watson. They belong to Gatiss, Moffatt, and ACD.**

**And here it is. My first fanfic that primarily showcases Sherlock Holmes without the POV of another. God help me (as Lestrade would say), I hope I did it justice.**

**Review please! :)**

**Summary: Sherlock meets John's sister, Harry. And even though it did not go well, it could have gone a lot worse.**

**Genre: General/Friendship**

**Setting: 221B Baker Street.**

**Warnings: Alocholism**

**Date/Time: August 13th, a little past three months after the events The Great Game. Around 4 pm.**

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Sherlock frowns at the documents in front of him, trying to make sense out of the illegible handwriting. The doctor he was investigating apparently did not think clear handwriting was a necessity. He pushes one document out the way, and pulls up another one.

This case was a small one, simple really. That's all he was in mood for right now, ever since the incident at the pool. Just small cases, ones that can be solved without much problems, without much running around (Since his arm was still in a blasted sling, even after the projected timeline for it to be completely healed has been long gone).

Usually Sherlock hated the small cases. One that got solved rather quickly. He preferred ones to take their time, because it delayed his inevitable crash into boredom. But the small ones came quickly.

Right now he was just looking for what his client was suspecting. That one of their doctors was stealing. Why, they don't know, they just know that their clinic has been rather low on pain medications the past couple months, and there is no reason why. They didn't want to bring in the police.. they simply wanted it taken care of and quickly.

And this doctor, with the illegible and shaky handwriting, and guilty eyes (Only Sherlock saw that when he spoke to them) and the way he constantly shifted in his chair during their meeting, has become Sherlock's prime suspect in this.

Now he just has to figure out why.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock tears his eyes away from the documents, his mind still racing trying to connect the dots as he sees Mrs Hudson at the door, looking impatient.

"What?" He growls. "I am rather busy Mrs Hudson."

"I know dear, but John isn't here-"

"He's at the locum, he will be back-" Sherlock glances at the clock on his laptop, "in precisely thirty minutes."

"Yes, I know, dear-"

"Then what is it?"

"He has a visitor," Mrs Hudson says in a low voice, just as he faintly hears.. someone moving downstairs. "And I told her what you said of course, but she seems insistent."

She? Hmm.. not Sarah then, as Sarah works where John does.

"Can she wait here?"

Someone unknown, waiting up here in their flat for hours before John gets here? Sherlock shudders. No thank you. Sherlock was not going to just make polite conversation with someone unknown.

"Not really, Mrs Hudson. I am a bit preoccupied with this case, I would not make good company."

"You never do dear," she says and he hears the amusement and fondness in her words. "But she needs to sit down somewhere in her condition."

"Condition?" He asks absently, his mind already going back to the case.

Mrs Hudson looks downstairs and comes further inside, stopping just a couple feet away. "She is a bit loaded dear."

Loaded. That means she's been drinking.

Sherlock's mind halts to a screeching stop, no longer on the case.

A woman.

Been drinking.

Looking for John.

Conclusion.. Harry Watson.

Curiosity leaps into Sherlock's mind then. He's only heard bits and pieces about Harry from John. Not a lot. He knows Harry's a drinker, left her wife, that she's two years older, and they do not get on well. His eyes travel past Mrs Hudson and to the stairs, where if he goes down them he will undoubtedly meet Harry Watson.

"Oh for god's sake, how long does it take to get one dressed to come meet their sister?" A femnine voice, slightly slurred, calls up, sounding quite annoyed. Mrs Hudson grimaces, and Sherlock realizes that the two women may have had... a bit of a conversation. One he evidently did not hear.

"I will see what she wants." John of course. But he does not want her to be here when John comes home. If she has to be, Sherlock would like it if she was sober.

He puts his shoes on, and follows Mrs Hudson down the stairs. By the time he gets halfway down there, his sensitive nose wrinkles, smelling the faint odor of drink.

Once he is completely down, he spots a woman leaning against the wall, eyes closed. His eyes and mind look over her, bringing the facts quickly.

Slender. Tall, three inches taller than John, but still not as tall as him. Dark blonde hair, shoulder length. Eyes closed, so no data on the colour of them. Rest of features similar to John's. Purse strap on right shoulder, no doubt a bottle of drink in there.

"Harry Watson, I presume?" He announces his presence.

Eyes open. John's eyes. No. Wrong. Colour similar to John's, but these eyes, hazy with drink and weary with problems that she brings upon herself, are not John's. They meet his.

"Sherlock Holmes, I imagine?" She drawls, her voice slurred. Not too badly. That means she must have only been drinking a little. Doesn't matter though. Still loaded. And there's a touch a hostility in her greeting.

"The one and only."

"Where's John?"

"Not here."

"When is he getting back?"

"No idea," he lies. At this point he hears a door close, which means Mrs Hudson has gone to her place.

"Right." She purses her lips. "I know a lie when I hear one."

"I imagine you would yes."

"And what is that suppose to mean?"

"That you must know how to lie often, Harry Watson," Sherlock retorts, his patience almost gone with the woman. "Like calls to like."

Eyes stare at him, and now he definitely feels the hostility. He almost wants to smile. But first he wants her gone before John gets home. He imagines her in this state would not please John, and then John would be in a bad mood, and Sherlock would have to deal with it.

And that is not something he cares to do. He has a hard time figuring out how to get John out of his bad moods. He only has experience with his own moods. Despite how their friendship has deepened, he still has trouble with John.'

"Calling me a liar now? We just met."

"I'm not one for pretense of polite conversation. You must know that, since you read his blog. And comment on it." Many inappropriate ones at that it seems, with the way John seems to be constantly deleting her comments.

"No, from what I read, you are a madman and a git. I can see that now."

Hmm, that was mild. "Yes, well we all have our faults. Yours seem to be dropping by without announcement, while halfway loaded. And already brimming with hostility, ready for argument. Not exactly a visit most people would want from a sibling."

Her lips purse, her jaw clenches in a manner similar to John's. He can literally see the insults rolling off her brain. Harry Watson is quite disappointing. John may not match him intellectually, but he is still intelligent, far more than most, and he had hoped his sister would have some as well.

Then again, asking for intelligence from a hostile alcoholic is a stretch.

"I want to see John."

"And as I said, he is not here."

"And of course you don't know when he's coming back."

In about fifteen minutes. "No. And I would prefer that if you must visit your brother, you do so while sober and not itching for an argument."

"Bastard."

"Yes, well I have been called worse. But my parents were married when they had me, so that does not really fit."

She exhales, and Sherlock grimaces, smelling the drink once more.

"Go home, Harry Watson. Sober up. And come back when you are. I am sure John would prefer to see you in that manner."

"How dare you presume-"

"I don't presume anything. I know. I see. And I know for a fact your brother would be horrified with this scene. And not with me. With you." Sherlock comes over and opens the door with his good arm. "Come on, I will get you a cab. And this is not a suggestion, Harry Watson."

A glare, she wants to hit him. Her hand is now in a fist. But she has to have steadiness in her balance to do so. And she is not steady. She needs to be sober to land a proper hit.

Impatient with how slow she is moving, Sherlock takes John's sister by the arm, ignoring her protests, and pushes her outside, letting go to close the door behind him, and then retakes her arm to escort her to the side of the curb. He has to hold on to her with his good arm, while hailing a taxi, which he sees one coming down the street "Taxi!" he shouts.

"You are an arrogant, ungrateful-"

"Yes, yes, I know all of that. You are not saying anything I have not heard before. No point in being dull now, Harriet," Sherlock drawls, knowing that she will hate him calling her by her full name

"It's Harry," she snarls, making him right.

The taxi pulls up beside them, thankfully, and Sherlock lets go of Harry to open the door, then pushes John's sister into the cab. "As I said, go home. Sober up. Call your brother, and arrange a time to meet. Only proper and decent." Mentally, Sherlock smirks. He's one to tell someone to do something decent and proper. But this is a Watson. John Watson does what is right. Therefore, if his sister wants to come here to talk to John, then she must follow the Watson way. That will be the only way Sherlock will tolerate this woman.

At all.

"You're one to talk," she snaps.

"I know. But you're not my sister. You're John's. And John would not want you here like this." Six minutes until John comes to Baker Street. Must get her out of here.

Sherlock turns to the cabbie and tells him the address of Harry's residence. He knows it because he looked it up in John's mobile. "And do not take her anywhere else," he adds, handing him the money needed.

The cabbie nods, and Sherlock glances back at Harry Watson, now fuming silently in the taxi but not saying anything. He gets another glare, a silent death wish- well that was rather melodramatic, and then the cabbie drives off.

Sherlock stands there, the warm breeze rippling around him, as he watches the cabbie drive off. And his mind wanders back to the case.

His eyes widen, as he now realizes what it was he was missing.

The smell.

The smell!

Sherlock detected a faint odor from the doctor he had talked to on that case. At the time he filed it away for later as data to come back to. But he smelled that odor from Harry...

The clinic had a alcoholic for a doctor. He was selling medications to buy his drink.

"Ah! Brilliant!"

"What's brilliant? And why are you just standing on the curb?"

Sherlock whirls around to see John standing behind him. How long had he been standing here? "Just solved a case."

John smiles, and he sees that his friend looks a bit tired. Busy day at the locum. "And the reason why you are outside on the curb?"

"Was going to meet you outside about getting something to eat," Sherlock lies. He doesn't like lying to John, something he discovered early in his friendship with him. Odd. If it was recently, he would understand. "I imagine you're hungry."

John gives him a look, and Sherlock knows that John knows he lied.

"I am actually. Are you going to eat?" Yet John does not press.

"I just solved my case, Of course. Angelo's?"

"Sure."

Sherlock nods, satisfied. He solved his case, and he was able to get a drunk Harriet Watson away from Baker Street before John came home and put his friend in no doubt a bad mood.

A decent day.


End file.
